


One of His Boys

by The 8th Guest (VZG)



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Incidental Heterosexual Sex, M/M, Tarantino-Typical Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-12
Updated: 2009-10-12
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VZG/pseuds/The%208th%20Guest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aldo knows one of his boys has to be queer, so it's just a matter of figuring out who.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of His Boys

He kept an eye out amongst his boys from the start of it, trying to see if any of the Jewish boys he was bringing to war happened to be trying to hide something other than a burning desire to kill Nazis. He had a suspicion Hirschberg was hiding something he'd use to make the nights go by easier, but a night of shivering and vomiting that almost wasn't entirely out of the ordinary later and that was gone, and it sure wasn't what he was looking for.

The American Armed Forces wouldn't have approved, but then technically they didn't approve of sending eight Jewish boys and a bootlegger to France to scalp enemies they weren't technically fighting yet, so Aldo didn't give a shit. Besides, lieutenant or not, a man had needs, and he wasn't going to be satisfying his with French whores.

A part of him — a big part of him, a part centralized in his dick — hoped it would be Donowitz, because he was sure it was somebody, and if there was anyone among them with a body to be admired it was the Bear Jew. He had all the posturing for it, too, bragging about how girls flocked to him, how he could satisfy two girls at once and have them both begging for more. It turned out to be just hopefulness on Aldo's part, though, when he found him flicking through a Tijuana bible featuring Rita Hayworth. He offered to lend it to him, but Aldo turned him down, showing none of his disappointment.

For a while he was pretty sure it was going to be Utivich, which didn't sit well on his mind. With any of the others if they were found out it wouldn't seem so bad, but with him being small and culture-bred, it would only lead to the sort of thoughts that would mean Aldo would more than likely be putting his fist through someone's teeth, and he didn't want to treat any of his boys like that. Besides, he needed someone bigger; it didn't matter his age, when he looked at Smithson Utivich all he was a kid. You don't fuck kids, even twenty-six-year-old kids.

But it wasn't Utivich either, and Aldo almost breathed a sigh of relief when he caught him with his head under a fresh-faced girl's skirt. Not that the immediate situation warranted a sigh of relief, with the girl gathering her arms full of cloth and running off with her thighs still slick, but the point remained that it wasn't Utivich, and later on Aldo was thankful for it.

None of the others showed any sort of obvious outward signs Aldo could pick up on easily. It might've been easier back in America, but in France they were all war boys, their thoughts on blood more often than on their dicks. But they weren't long in, yet, and they were bound to be spending a lot of time together; Aldo knew it would come.

And come it did, in the form of Wilhelm goddamn Wicki.

It was during one of their little nine-on-a few Basterd-Nazi powwows, if one could call the negotiations in the aftermath of a slaughter that. Donny was a ways off, hitting a dead tree now and then with his bat, and Aldo was busy trying to get information off an officer. Kagan has his gun at the back of their other prisoner's head, and Wicki stood near him, taunting him with his low rumble of a voice in German.

The prisoner was the very face of Nazi Germany, young, blond, blue-eyed, and a face sweet like honey. There was appreciation to be had for a face like that, especially on the body of a soldier — or at least there would've been, if not for the fact that he was a fucking Nazi. Aldo only barely noticed out of the corner of his eye, but as he worked on getting the officer to tell them how far up the road it was to the next Nazi outpost, and how many soldiers there were, the handsome prisoner's face grew red, his eyes looking anywhere but at Wicki.

Then, all at once, he seemed to boil over, attempting to burst up in spite of his bound hands and turn toward Wicki, his voice raising above Aldo's, spittle flying.

Wicki didn't even look perturbed, turning his gun and hitting the soldier in the temple with it, hard enough to knock him off his feet. When he didn't quiet, he hit him again, harder still, and he fell to the ground, groaning in pain.

Turned out they didn't need him at all, and after Aldo was through getting answers from the officer — but before leaving his mark in him — Kagan turned the prisoner toward him with the heel of his boot and shot him right between the eyes.

The issue was put on the back burner for a while as they made their way down the road and killed a good half-dozen more Nazis, then released their marked officer and went deeper into the woods, setting up camp for the night.

As their fire died down and the night drew in, Aldo clapped a hand on Wicki's shoulder, keeping him from joining the other Basterds in a good post-kill sleep. It was the nice, subtle way to do it: no orders or embarrassing reprimands, but none of his boys were about to shake off his hand.

"So what exactly was it you said to get that kraut so riled up?" he asked, not interested in beating around the bush. Whatever it was must've had some significance, because Wicki hadn't immediately shared it with the rest of the team. He hesitated, just slightly, so Aldo went on, "'Cause if it's so goddamned effective I'd like to know, so I can use it myself."

"Just told him what I'd like to do to him, sir," Wicki answered, the cigarette hanging from his lips bobbing as he spoke. Wicki was the only one of the boys who could save and savor a cigarette just so; it was to be admired.

Aldo just raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to explain.

Wicki was more reserved this time, quieter. "Said he had a pretty mouth."

Ah-ha. Well, that did touch the heart of it. "So, what, you said you'd fuck it?"

Wicki nodded. "Among other things."

"Did you want to?"

Wicki didn't answer, but a hint of resignation came to his features that gave Aldo his answer anyway.

Bingo.

Aldo studied him a moment, just to make sure, and thought that the same compliment might be paid to Wicki himself. He patted his shoulder and removed his hand, dismissing him for the night, and that was the last they talked of it for a while.

Days they could get into town, eat real food and sleep in real beds didn't come often. They had to be small towns, too small for the Germans to have their eyes on, too small to care if visitors didn't say a damned word the entire time they stayed. Not until two months after Wicki's revelation, three and a half months since their last stay, did they find such a place and have the money to put down on it. It was a good spot — not too far from the woods in case of trouble, very quiet, but peopled enough that Aldo was sure his boys could find what they desired: warm cooked food, warm clothes if theirs were torn, warm bodies if they were getting anxious.

Sex was on Aldo's mind even less than the rest of theirs, so that didn't factor in to his choosing to stay, or the choice to spend the night at the inn farthest from the town's pubs and the streets where hookers ran, but to be sure he took account of it once they'd settled in, and though he tried not to think too hard on it he found himself drifting, fantasizing while he walked and talked about other things.

He knew what they'd all be after on the first night, as they'd been the few times they'd manage to stop before: sex. To be sure, no sooner had he dismissed them than Omar was trying to chat up the innkeeper's daughter, the others murmuring about what sort of girl they were looking for and how blue their balls had gotten. Wicki went out with the rest of them, and Aldo returned to his room, but didn't close the door.

Nearly an hour later Aldo heard heavy footsteps come down the hall, and saw Wicki through the doorway. He looked in briefly, then paused.

"Not spending the night out, Wicki?" Aldo asked from where he'd sat on his bed to sharpen his knife. "Thought you'd joined the others."

"I'm not real interested in French girls," Wicki said, as if he wasn't sure if Aldo remembered their conversation by the fireside. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, Aldo's gaze as strong an order as the hand on his shoulder.

"No, I'd guess not." Aldo looked him head to toe and back once, then beckoned him to join him. "Well, come on in. It's a night for company, Wicki."

Wicki hesitated, like he had at the fireside, still unsure of just how leisurely he should be with his superior. Try as he had to drill it into their heads that in the wilds of France rank didn't matter shit for most things, the boys still called him "sir" more than he'd have liked. Casual was one thing, but rubbing shoulders was another.

"Come on, we ain't got all week," Aldo said, getting a flask out of his pack. As he unscrewed the cap and took a swig, Wicki closed the door behind him, crossing the room and standing beside the bed. "Don't be a fuckin' idiot, Wicki, sit the hell down."

Wicki did, relaxing a bit in doing so. Aldo offered the flask, and Wicki drank graciously before handing it back, wiping his mouth so that his lips shone with spin and drink.

Aldo waited a moment, letting Wicki relax. "Now, I didn't forget what you told me, Wicki, but you ain't gotta worry about that with me. I'm no fucking kraut and I'm not a goddamned 'Merican prick, either; I ain't gonna shoot ya for who you fuck. I won't have any of you gettin' all tense over some dumb shit like that, not when you've got better things to be thinking about."

Wicki nodded absently, hearing what Aldo said but obviously not believing it. Aldo took another drink from his flask and then set it on the nightstand.

"Fuck, Wicki, don't act like I've just kicked you in the gut. Do I gotta spell it out? For every ounce of you what's queer, I've got double."

He watched Wicki, letting it all settle in real slow. When it hit, he smiled, and Wicki answered in kind before asking, "That all, sir?"

"'That all'? No, that ain't all, son. I'd like to make a pro-posal." Wicki waited, one eyebrow raised, his shoulders relaxed now. "I may not be your usual prettyboy kraut type, but you ain't gonna have time to find much better while we're out here hunting Nazis, so if you've got no objections, I'd like to suggest you and I fuck."

For a moment Wicki looked almost shocked, and then he laughed, muttering, "You'll do fine, Lieutenant," before leaning in and licking his way into Aldo's mouth.

There was a usefulness to a mustache, Aldo thought as he sucked on Wicki's tongue. Whoever you kissed always knew it was you that was kissing them, and he could feel that very thought travel into Wicki from the way his lip twitched, tickled by facial hair. Wicki's hand was on his face, the other cupping his neck, trying to draw him close, to thrust his tongue deeper and explore more thoroughly. Aldo had one hand at Wicki's back, the other already working on unfastening his own pants. The sound of shifting clothes caught Wicki's attention, and his hands started to help even as Aldo sucked at his neck.

His pants fell, and before he knew it Wicki did too, landing on his knees before Aldo even registered he was just kissing air. His eyes were full of mischievous lust, his fingers already drawing down underwear before Aldo stopped him with a hand over his.

"Much as I appreciate it, I aim to get fucked tonight, if you don't mind."

"You want me to fuck you?" And if those weren't the best words Aldo'd heard in a long time, Wicki's voice, that deep, beautiful rumble, would've made them so, washing over him like whiskey. It went straight to his cock, and Aldo was suddenly intensely grateful that it turned out to be this particular Basterd. Wicki's lip quirked. "That can be arranged."

"'Course it can. You just get yourself undressed and settle in." He stood, shucking off his shirt before finishing the removal of his pants and boots; out of the corner of his eye he watched Wicki do the same, appreciating the long hard lines of him.

He dug through his pack quickly, retrieving a balm meant for first aid, something to sooth burns and rashes; it wasn't ideal, a little thick and pasty, but it was the best he had. Wicki gestured for it from the bed. "Let me."

Aldo grinned, shaking his head. "Uh-uh — you just lay back and let me take care of this, all right?"

Wicki did, not taking his eyes off Aldo, lazily stroking his cock to hardness as he reclined. Aldo himself had been half-hard since he'd seen Wicki in the door; it'd been a damned long time, and he'd been anticipating it too much for his dick to not take notice of the man now.

Resting one knee on the side of the bed, he slicked up three fingers with the balm quick, reaching behind to stretch himself with first one finger, then two, not too fast. Before he had the third finger in Wicki's hand was on his thigh, his fingertips stroking too close to his cock and not close enough, muttering encouragement that might've been English and might not have been. It was a mechanical part for Aldo, something he didn't take lots of pleasure in but did for the pleasure later, but Wicki's attention kept his erection from flagging too much, and by the time he was ready it was still more than interested.

Wicki tried to sit up, figuring this would be the moment he laid Aldo down to fuck, but Aldo stopped him again. He loved to get fucked, yeah, loved someone thrusting into him hard and quick, but he'd been the one to solicit this, and he wasn't going to make Wicki do all the work, at least not just then. He straddled Wicki's hips, and the soldier, getting the idea, put his hand back on Aldo's thigh, using the other to guide his cock to Aldo's ass.

The first descent was slow, drawing a groan from Aldo and a quick exhalation from Wicki, but the pace picked up immediately, wasting no time in getting used to the feeling or catching breath. Fucking wasn't about that to Aldo, wasn't about being comfortable or stopping to smell the goddamned roses. It was hard and fast and needed to be exciting enough to steal the breath out of you, and luckily Wicki caught on to that fast, pistoning his own hips up to meet each of Aldo's downward thrusts.

In spite of military training and living in the woods for months on end, Aldo's legs couldn't take the up-down motion so long as the rest of him could, so he leaned forward, relieving the pain by leaning on his arms. Wicki took the opportunity to unstick one of his hands from Aldo's skin, wrapping his arm around his neck and meeting his mouth on a particularly sharp thrust. They bit at each other's lips and soothed the sting with tongues, Aldo running his hand up Wicki's body to tease at a nipple and earning a shudder in return.

Wicki rocked his hips up and to the side, urging Aldo over, and making do with the little room they had they tumbled until they were pressed against the wall, Wicki over Aldo and thrusting just right, just right there. He had one hand on the wall and the other next to Aldo's head, and Aldo had both his on Wicki's ass, drawing him in on each thrust.

"That's the fucking spot, Wicki, that's the goddamned spot."

Wicki, for his part, remained mostly silent, apart from the occasional grunt or curse, sometimes in English, sometimes in German. Aldo spared a moment to think that he'd like to train that silence out of him, even if it probably would serve them better than anything else, and then he didn't have any thoughts anymore, just sensations, jerking himself off with one hand while he continued to draw Wicki in on each thrust with the other until the world was all light except the man fucking him, come spilling all over his hand and stomach.

Wicki was still going, and Aldo urged him on with both hands back on his ass, gripping, mumbling, "Come on, you fucker, come on." Summoning his remaining energy, he clenched what muscles he could, and Wicki groaned loud, letting his head drop as he came inside Aldo, jerking occasionally as his orgasm drained out of him.

A minute later, when Aldo cared to take note of his surroundings again, he found Wicki lying on his stomach by his side, his head cushioned on one arm, his other hand in the come on Aldo's stomach, rubbing it into his skin. When he noticed he had Aldo's attention he pulled his hand away and kissed his fingers, drawing his tongue up one and through the white mess. Aldo took him by the wrist and sucked on the next finger, just for a moment, before pulling away and giving him a gentle shove.

"Come on, get. You ought to sleep in your own room tonight, just in case." Wicki nodded, not taking offense or looking disappointed, but Aldo added anyway, "And if you wake up early, we might be able to do that again tomorrow."

Wicki smiled, pulling on his pants. "You like to wake up by being fucked into the mattress?"

God, Aldo could get used to that voice saying that sort of thing real fast, he thought. "Ain't done it before, but I think I might."

Wicki just went on smiling as he finished getting dressed, only stopping when he was at the door. "You aren't the man I expected," he said, and then he left.


End file.
